


across the worlds

by extensive_scribe



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Artist Byun Baekhyun, Fate, Fluff, M/M, Photographer Park Chanyeol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extensive_scribe/pseuds/extensive_scribe
Summary: An artist who lost all his inspiration and a photographer who is still in love with the world pass each other unknowingly across cities and seas, and sometimes when the timing is just right, they get to meet as well.OrBaekhyun and Chanyeol don't believe in fate, but it seems to like bringing them together.





	across the worlds

"No, I'm fine Kyungsoo, really I'm just great -"

Chanyeol almost drops his phone from where he'd nestled it on his shoulder, but the awkward position does nothing to muffle the loud sigh on Kyungsoo's end. Jostling his shoulder a little, he tries to rearrange the bags he's holding and fails miserably, and after a moment of flailing he just stands stock still, hoping that the phone won't fall.

"This is why I told Jongin I still don’t trust you to go on a trip alone," Kyungsoo says into his ear. The connection isn't that good and it makes Kyungsoo's voice more static than anything else, makes it harder to determine his tone. "Please don't die."

Chanyeol coos. "Aww, Soo, are you worried?" He tries to shuffle around for his hotel keys and ends up dropping a few things from the grocery bag instead. "I'm not dying yet, I still need to bother you for a while."

Kyungsoo sighs again. "Just make sure you don't get your camera stolen like last time," he says, and Chanyeol doesn't need to hear his voice well to know it's riddled with exasperation now. "We need those pictures. I'll tell Junmyeon you arrived safely."

He hangs up before Chanyeol can respond, and he’s left with his shoulder hunched up to keep the cell in place, bags all over him and keys still unfound. “Shit,” Chanyeol mutters, and hears laughter behind him at the word.

His head is at an awkward angle and his bags are a second away from dropping and sprawling over the hotel hall, but even through his panic and dread, he can tell that the man approaching him is beautiful. His eyes are warm and his light brown hair looks so fluffy, falling to his lashes gently and framing his face. There’s a smile making his features even more sweet and comforting, a soft edge to his lips that seems almost fond despite being a stranger.

"Do you need help with anything?" The man asks as he picks up the items Chanyeol had dropped. His tone is amused but he doesn't seem to be laughing at Chanyeol, just - entertained. At least Chanyeol's current predicament has humored someone. His ears are burning, he realizes distantly.

"Yes I - thank you," he says, voice faltering when the stranger takes the phone from his shoulder and lets him move his neck freely. His fingers brush against Chanyeol's cheek for the faintest moment and if it was any brighter in the hall, he knows the stranger would have been able to see the flush traveling up his face.

The man tilts his head and smiles again, “You’re welcome.”

Chanyeol finds himself entranced. His smile holds a type of power that he hasn't seen in anyone before, and every little expression he makes looks so genuine, like he's really this pleased. "Do you need me to take something out for you?" He asks, making Chanyeol's gaze snap up from his lips to his eyes. They're sparkling with knowledge and at this point, it doesn't matter that the lights of the halls are low and dimmed, Chanyeol knows his face is fiery red and visible for anyone to see. “Or should I just hold a bag?”

“Um,” Chanyeol flounders, “a bag please.”

The stranger takes pity on his awkward bumbling and reaches for one of his hands, taking the two or three grocery bags there. But Chanyeol heats up at the skin contact again anyway, and he hides his face by looking for the hotel keys he knows he’d put into his inner jacket pocket. When he’s gotten the door open, the stranger leaves the bags on the floor right by the shoe closet, waiting until Chanyeol has his wits together to hand him his phone.

“Well, I’ll be leaving now,” he says, still smiling a little. And then he’s gone, before Chanyeol can ask if he wants a cup of tea or if he’s planning on staying in England for a while. Wait, England -

Oh, he realizes, too late, staring at the hotel doorway as if the beautiful stranger will appear again if he wills hard enough. He was Korean.

  
Staring at the wall will do no good for anyone, Baekhyun knows, but he can’t help but do exactly that. It’s early morning in Korea at this hour, and his jet lag isn’t helping his situation one bit. If only he’d listened to Jongdae and slept in England’s time the previous day.

Tearing his gaze from the wall, he looks at the sketchbook he’d brought with him instead. Jongdae had been the one to force it into his suitcase, telling him he might get inspiration while on the trip. Baekhyun had told him in response that he’d only allowed Jongdae and Minseok to push him out of the country to take a break, not to be even more miserable thinking of the time he’s wasting, but his words had gone through one ear and out the other. And now, now he finds himself wondering if he should draw something.

He hasn't had this urge in months. He's an artist, yet the joy of drawing and painting had seemed to completely escape him over the last half year. He remembers the days bleeding into each other with the stench of alcohol he can’t even handle all over his apartment, remembers trying to light one of his failed artworks on fire and Minseok barely stopping him in time. He remembers going insane with the need to get his feelings and thoughts out but not being able to do so without paints and brushes, and when even art betrayed him, he’d fallen into the most helpless bout of desperation and frustration in his life.

Yet the man - how had he done it?

Baekhyun tries to imagine him, his wide, beautiful eyes as he took in Baekhyun’s frame, the way he jerked in surprise whenever they made contact, the flush in his cheeks that went up to the tips of his ears.

He’d been cute, Baekhyun thinks with an amused little chuckle. Approaching him had been a whim, an impulsive, stupid decision because Baekhyun is always weak for tall, cute guys. And then he’d heard bits of Korean the closer he got, his deep yet slightly whiny voice to whoever he was talking to over the phone, and maybe Baekhyun may have liked to believe that God was giving him a small present for the miserable months he suffered.

How this stranger had torn up the confusion and disturbance and brought up the unadulterated curiosity and intrigue, he has no idea. But he likes it, this feeling that it’s brought up in him. It almost feels like a small crush, the fascination and the novelty of it all. His fingers itch to pick up a pencil but Baekhyun doesn’t know what he’d draw, what he’d attempt to portray, so he leaves the sketchbook where it is and settles for staring until he falls asleep.

  
Kyungsoo doesn’t call Chanyeol this often even when they’re in the same country, so Chanyeol knows when he sees his best friend’s ID on his phone that it’s probably Jongin who persuaded Kyungsoo to check in on him again.

Sure enough, there’s a lighter, more enthusiastic voice on the other end when Chanyeol picks up, and he can practically feel Jongin’s gentle, cocooning warmth through the device. “Chanyeol-hyung,” and he sounds breathless, like he’s been moving around. “Have you arrived safely? How was the trip?”

“You’ve stolen Kyungsoo’s phone again,” Chanyeol says blankly, as if that’s not obvious. “Why have you stolen his phone again?”

Jongin’s whine is clear and loud even with the terrible connection. It’s only been a day since Chanyeol’s left Korea for England but he finds that he already misses Jongin, his clinginess as the maknae and need for constant affection. “I lost my phone somewhere in my apartment again,” Jongin says, tone devastated. “Hyung, can you help me clean my room?” He calls away from the speakers, probably to Kyungsoo.

Chanyeol laughs, breathy and soft. He sees the rings of misty clouds leaving his lips in puffs of white, watches them float upwards towards the gray skies.

“Okay, Jongin,” he says, and hears what might be a stifled hello from Junmyeon or Kyungsoo, he can’t be sure. Chanyeol starts walking for the shops he knows are lined in the alley, bright lights glowing yellow and orange. “I need to go, but tell Kyungsoo I’ll be sending a few pictures by the end of tomorrow.”

Another muffled greeting, and then it’s Kyungsoo on the phone, telling him, “Don’t do anything stupid,” before he hangs up. Chanyeol snorts at the blunt words as he puts his phone in his pocket and continues the trek towards the cobbled roads, looking around in fascination.

Oxford is a beautiful city, but people more often look towards the old colleges than the roundabout streets and walkways. The big cathedrals and castle-esque schools are stunning, no doubt. The stones that they’d been built with have centuries of stories to tell, vines reaching up around the balconies and higher windows, gardens wild with flowers and loose patterns of greenery.

But there’s a different sort of wonder to be found in the backdrop of the tourist city, and every nook and cranny holds a new, quaint little shop or store that can’t be found anywhere else. Despite the grayness of the sky today and the bitter cold, there’s a warmth seeping into him coming from hues of reds and mild oranges that light up the inside of the stores, and Chanyeol loves this.

This is why he continues what he does, even if it means that sometimes he’ll have to stay away from Korea for months at a time, even if weeks and weeks of hard work produce merely a handful of presentable pictures. This joy and comfort that can be found in different parts of the world - he wants to share it, spread the beauty and wonder everywhere.

Turning the corner, Chanyeol catches a wisp of coffee from one of the cafes, hears sweet laughter traveling down the street that sounds awfully familiar for a moment. The sudden, startling thought has him spinning around, trying to see where had come from, but he can’t grasp exactly what about the sound makes him think he’s heard it before.

It’s probably nothing, his mind supplies. All his friends are back in Korea and he doesn’t know anyone in England. Then his attention is taken away by the most breathtaking little stationary store, and he misses the tuft of light brown hair behind the furthest brick building.

  
Baekhyun calls Jongdae as soon as he’s in the open mall. He’s heading towards the crepe stand on the second floor that he’s already eaten at yesterday despite knowing Jongdae would tell him, as he always does, that it’s pointless to go around the world if he doesn’t try new things.

“Honestly,” Jongdae sighs, too predictable, “Didn’t you say those things were expensive? You can get crepes in Korea on the sidewalks, Baekhyun. Crepes that have more toppings that are also cheaper.”

Baekhyun pouts, even though he knows Jongdae can’t see him. “It’s really good, alright?” He grouses, already handing over a few pounds to the man behind the counter. He gets a smile and returns one as he takes the crepe, spearing the small wooden fork into a banana slice and smearing nutella over it.

There’s a slight breeze that's coming through the open center of the mall. Baekhyun hops on an escalator to the roof, where there are benches with little crates of fake flowers surrounding them, a sushi place that looks far too pretty for its own good, and a mint colored bicycle hanging off another restaurant’s fence purely for aesthetics.

It’s a sight he’s returned to at least three times here, and he doesn’t quite want to leave.

“You know for an artist, you’re so systematic and patterned.” On Jongdae’s end, Baekhyun hears furious typing, knows that Jongdae’s probably sending emails regarding Baekhyun’s current hiatus. His manager is really so hardworking, and a sheepish smile crawls up Baekhyun’s lips when he thinks about all the things he’s put Jongdae through. “Aren’t you lot supposed to be free spirits and all that? Experimental and adventurous. Not like you who shuts himself in his house for months at a time and relies on me and Minseok for any fresh food or news of the outside world.”

“Ouch, Jongdae,” Baekhyun says, but he’s smiling. “My heart.”

Jongdae snorts at him and for a few seconds, there’s a pause in the sounds of his fingers hitting the keyboard. “Have fun,” Jongdae says at last, tone just a little softer. “Try new things, make some memories. This is the reason you’re on break anyway, you were moping about how you had no inspiration.”

Swallowing a mouthful of the crepe, Baekhyun considers telling Jongdae about the man he’d seen in the hotel a few nights ago. How, for the first time in months, he’d finally felt the familiar longing in his hands, to pick up a pencil and sketch something, anything - preferably his handsome face. How this stranger in the middle of the hotel hall who he knew nothing about was the one who managed to make him want to paint again, if only briefly.

But he knows what Jongdae’s response would be, that he’s on vacation to find something worth putting pencil to paper for, to build a collection of small memories. Not to get attached to a nameless man he’ll never see again.

Baekhyun sighs. Watching the white condensation disappear into the air, he wonders how people feel, knowing that anyone who passes them on the street may somehow become a part of their lives in the future. Knowing that some others will become nothing at all.

“Yeah okay,” he says, “I’ll try.”

Making a small noise of approval, Jongdae resumes his typing. “You know where your next destination is, right? You have around a week left in England but you’re going to Paris after.”

Baekhyun hums. Looking up at the sky, he frowns as he takes in how dark and angry the clouds are. It’s been like this for a few days now, and he knows by the cold temperature that anything falling from them will be snow. He’s checking his forecast just as Jongdae’s telling him, “By the way, there’s going to be a snowstorm there in two days.”

He barely manages to suppress a groan. “Alright,” he says, acutely aware of how his voice has lost any previous energy. Jongdae laughs.

“Don’t take a nap today, you’ve been there for more than a week already and you still haven’t adjusted to the timezone.”

“Alright, mother,” Baekhyun pouts. "You're still bossing me around even in a whole other country."

Silence. Then, “Baekhyun?”

“Yeah?”

Jongdae sighs again, but it’s fond. “Nothing. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

The snow has just started falling when Chanyeol checks back into the hotel. The forecast had warned of around three hours of continuous snow before flitting out for the night and then probably being melted away with the following morning’s light.

It isn’t a hard storm yet, just sprinkles of big flakes finding their way to the closest surface they can find, but Chanyeol knows that it’ll turn into a flurry soon. He’s still slightly irritated that he’d had to cut his trip short, and Junmyeon had responded to his overdramatic texts by telling him he had a week left to explore and take pictures. Kyungsoo had been far more straightforward, saying it was his fault he didn’t care to read the weather forecast before leaving the hotel.

Knowing he has nothing better to do, Chanyeol goes to the lobby, a small, cozy lounge filled with a circle of couches around a flat wooden table and a window seat.

He’s distracted by the thoughts clouding his head, wondering if he should go back to the winding streets he’d discovered tomorrow or go on with his plan of going to different major cities each day. It’s such a shame to not go back though, there are so many parts of the campus that Chanyeol hadn’t been able to go to because of the lack of time, and there are equally as many parts that he knows would have looked infinitely better under the sun. He isn’t, however, distracted enough to miss the figure on one of the couches, curled up with a sketchbook in an impossibly soft sweater and worn out jeans. ,

It’s the man from that night, he realizes belatedly, recognizing the soft droop of the man’s eyes, pouty lips light pink, tender gaze sweeping over his paper as one hand grips the edge of the book and the other runs through his messy hair.

Chanyeol finds himself growing ever curious. This is dangerous territory, this interest and wonder. He knows this, yet he still wants to fantasize, wants to imagine getting closer to this fascinating stranger with the dewy cheeks, bright smile, layer upon layer of new, foreign expressions.

Tentatively, Chanyeol sits on the couch across from the man and takes out his laptop, thinking to get a head start on the emails from Kyungsoo and knowing he has to send him at least a few good pictures. It feels strangely awkward and out of place but this is a public seating area, and there’s a couple on the window seat too so it’s not - it’s not like he’s doing something _wrong_. Except that his eyes keep traveling up from his screen to the stranger’s face, how soft his eyes are and how his bangs keep falling into them. And the man seems to feel Chanyeol staring, meeting his eyes the next time Chanyeol looks up.

For the briefest, most terrifying second, Chanyeol freezes in his spot, not knowing what to say, what to do. He’s never felt this petrified before, never felt this pierced by a single gaze in his entire life.

But then the stranger smiles. It’s the same smile he’d given Chanyeol that night when they first met, if it can even be called a meeting, a tiny little smile like he knows secrets Chanyeol can only dream of. Maybe he does.

Relieved, Chanyeol lets himself smile back, feeling a pleasant thrill run through him when the stranger’s eyes crinkle up slightly in happiness. The moment lasts mere seconds, but it leaves Chanyeol with a slight blush on his cheeks, surprised yet comforted by the simple action.

The worst of the snowstorm hits around an hour later, when the world beyond the window is pure white. At one point, the stranger stops his drawing and rests the sketchbook low on his knees, turning his head to stare out the window with a quiet sort of awe on his features, etched onto his barely parted mouth, breathless with wonder.

The stranger doesn’t seem like a stranger anymore. It feels too detached to call him that, and Chanyeol knows, knows somewhere deep in his heart that they won’t be anything more than coincidental people who simply used the same hotel, but he wants something else to remember him by, ends up wishing that somehow, he could find out more.

Chanyeol makes to leave only when the snow has stopped, near eight. It’s dark, and if he had a little more energy he might have gone out to the city to take pictures of the nightlife. But there’s exhaustion in his bones despite not having moved around much at all, and he attributes it to the weather and the dreary colors that had followed him around the entire day. The man seems to notice his movements and he looks up slightly when Chanyeol stands.

“I’m just -” Chanyeol stutters, even though really, he has no reason to be telling this man that he’s leaving, “going to head to bed.”

The man’s eyes are sparkling again with amusement and this time, this time Chanyeol knows he’s probably laughing at Chanyeol. He doesn’t say anything though, instead just picking up his sketchbook and standing as well.

“So what are you doing in England?” The man asks while they walk. His voice is soothing, like warm sunshine in the spring, and Chanyeol almost forgets to respond.

“Photography,” Chanyeol manages, his hand unconsciously coming up to grip the camera around his neck. He watches the man press buttons on the elevator going to the seventh floor, slim fingers peeking from the sweater’s white sleeves while the other hand tucks some hair behind his ear. “I work for a journal. You?”

“I’m supposed to be here to get inspiration,” the man replies. It isn’t a direct answer, and he seems to be fully aware of this as he turns to Chanyeol and grins a little. “Because according to my friend, I’m too stuffy and routined.”

The elevator door dings as they let in some guests from the fourth floor, making the man step a little closer to Chanyeol to make room. From this close, Chanyeol can smell the sweet, flowery shampoo of the man’s hair, their shoulders almost touching but not quite.

They walk out together when the elevator dings again, closer than they’d been during the last walk. Chanyeol’s room is closer to the elevators and so the man stands beside him quietly as he slots the key into the knob, turning and pushing the door open.

“I'll admit, it was nice hearing Korean in person again,” the man says, smiling a little. "Sleep well." The lights above him are giving him the softest glow, the warmth in his eyes magnified, and Chanyeol knows that no matter how much he wants to take a picture, film alone would never be able to capture this look. He swallows.

“Goodnight.”

  
“For all people say that fate isn’t real, we seem to be running into each other quite often.”

Chanyeol jumps in surprise at the voice, turning to see an amused smile. He almost drops his sandwich.

“Oh,” he stutters, and God he hopes he doesn’t end up making a fool of himself again, “hi. Again.”

The man laughs, beautiful and loud and entrancing. “Hi to you too. What brings you out here?”

Oh, they’re having a conversation now. Chanyeol isn’t really good with them when the conversation is between him and a person who looks far too cute for his well-being. “The mall,” he says at last. “It has a great view.”

The man perks up and his already bright smile lights up even more, and Chanyeol melts just a little more, too. “It does, doesn’t it? The shops are so beautiful up on the balcony!”

Maybe it is possible to fall in love with just a few words and chance meetings. Chanyeol finds himself easing into the man’s warm aura and easy personality, gentle smiles and loud, captivating laughter. “They are,” he agrees, smiling more comfortably now, “have you seen the hills on the other side?”

Eyes sparkle at him and don’t lose their intensity even as they keep talking, hours later about all sorts of things. Chanyeol was supposed to go out towards the bigger cities and take pictures but with this man, his plans fly out the window and he wants to stay longer, anything if it means he gets to see more of him.

If only this had been in Korea, Chanyeol laments. This could have been something more.

He doesn’t know the man is thinking the same thing.

  
Sending the emails ends up taking so much longer Chanyeol had planned, but it isn’t really surprising given how much time he’d spent staring at the pictures he took.

They're his pictures. He's the one that took them in the first place.

Yet there's still the magical, almost surreal feeling whenever he looks over his gallery, like he can't believe he'd been at the very places just days or even hours ago. There’s everything to see in these pictures, sunlight streaming through windows, lights blinking all over cities, scenery that makes Chanyeol breathless with the sights. It’s less the images reflected off the screen, more of how they make him think of the real, almost tangible memories still lingering on his mind.

Kyungsoo is a muted tone of delighted when he calls Chanyeol to say he received them all the next morning, and Jongin’s whines are heard loud over the phone, saying that it isn’t fair how Chanyeol is the only one who gets to go around and see all this. He shuts up when Kyungsoo tells him he’d lose himself in a crowded area.

“I’m glad you didn’t lose your camera again,” Kyungsoo says, to Junmyeon’s agreement somewhere near him. “Imagine losing all this. This is great, Chanyeol. They all look amazing.”

Praise is something Chanyeol is used to, but Kyungsoo isn’t one for easy compliments. Hearing this from Kyungsoo means he’s doing something right for once, and he hides his giddy smile into the bed covers. “Yeah? I spent a lot of time on them.”

“You’re going to be the best photographer in the _world_ -” Jongin exclaims, sounding less functional and more high than he usually does, but Chanyeol will bet almost anything that he’s gotten drunk from hot chocolate again.

“Get down from the desk, Jongin,” Kyungsoo calls from a distance, and Chanyeol laughs.

“I’ll call you back later,” Chanyeol says, “alright? I’m going to go out for a while now.”

“Be careful,” comes Junmyeon’s voice, and Kyungsoo, too, telling him not to get too attached to the places he visits.

Too late, a part of Chanyeol thinks, shrinking in on itself long after Kyungsoo’s ended the call. He forces the thoughts of the man out of his head.

  
Paris is beautiful, Baekhyun knows, but it feels different being here purely to enjoy the place as a tourist, without any responsibilities or business meetings like the last time he’d been in the city. Sehun tells him to spend all the money he wants on food and nice sights instead of letting it pile up and collect dust, to which Baekhyun responds by saying that splurging now will leave him broke if he fails as an artist later. Sehun hadn’t had anything to retort to that, but Baekhyun could practically feel him rolling his eyes through his phone.

The place Baekhyun is staying at is Hotel Charpentier de Fourcy, which despite its long name, isn’t nearly as fancy or luxurious as some other places he’s been. The building itself reminds Baekhyun of old town structures, made of a faded, cream-colored stone that creates a maze of rooms and bridges and arches. There isn’t a physical barrier between most of the halls and bridges, and there’s an open lobby right beyond the entrance gates that Baekhyun questions the effectiveness of in winter when it’s too cold to function outside, while a garden decorates the backyard with a fountain in the center. The garden currently only houses evergreens that can stand the colder months and the fountain is void of water, but it makes a pretty picture nevertheless, snow coating the surfaces and reflecting lights off them.

Originally he’d wanted to spend his time in the balcony up in his room and ignore the probable frostbite, but those plans had been ruined when online reviews had told him that the place hardly has any good WiFi in most rooms, and he found that unfortunately his own room was one of them. Which left him no choice but to look for a way to get outside.

If he’s honest, Baekhyun can remember being a high schooler having a pinterest board of the sights he’d wanted to see when he got to Paris. Later though, his old bones had declared themselves too tired to walk around the way he’d wanted to, and even now, looking through the pictures he’d been obsessed with as a student, he doesn’t feel like going outside. Calling Jongdae for suggestions, he’s faced with a barrage of demands.

“The Eiffel Tower is a must, Baekhyun, a must,” Jongdae says almost aggressively into his ear. Baekhyun laughs.

“Next time, I’ll just bring you along with me,” he says, amused. “Then you can captain away the entire trip.”

Jongdae gags on the other end. “You and I would kill each other and you know that. By the way, why are you even awake? It’s seven in the morning over there.”

Baekhyun stays silent as he smears strawberry jelly over his croissant. He’d been too prideful to admit to Jongdae that despite his efforts, he hadn’t been able to adjust to London’s time, and even a week later in Paris, he wasn’t much better. He’d waken at six, and unable to go back to sleep, spent an hour goving at the ceiling before coming down to the lobby and finding to his delight that free breakfast was served between seven and nine-thirty.

“I had plans,” he lies at last with as much confidence and gusto he can muster, knowing Jongdae will catch on anyway.

“Baekhyun,” Jongdae says, disappointment in his tone. “What did I tell you about fighting sleep to adjust to timezones?”

“I was planning to stay inside the whole time anyway,” Baekhyun grouses. He picks at the croissant and waits for the exasperated answer he knows will come.

“You stick yourself in your little apartment in Korea so much. At least make the effort to go outside if you’re visiting a whole other country.”

Half the reason Baekhyun calls Jongdae is to get the extra boost from someone that assertively tells him what to do. Otherwise, he’d have holed himself up in London, too. He sighs.

“Where should I go?”

Jongdae makes a delighted little noise. Immediately, Baekhyun’s computer makes soft notification sounds as emails pour in from Jongdae, different sites and places he can visit while he’s in Paris.

“The Eiffel Tower, of course,” Jongdae says, like it would be a crime not to go. “But there’s a carnival going on this week or something and you’ll probably have fun there too. It’s actually near the Tower, you want me to make reservations for going to the top? You could go there right after. You should also go to the Louvre, you’re a fucking artist, go see those legends from back then.”

Baekhyun laughs again. Jongdae’s excitement is infectious, and the more Jongdae talks, the more he finds himself curious. “Alright, but don’t take it too far. I’m an old man, I can’t actually go around like that without tiring my bones.”

“You’re fucking twenty-seven.”

“Still applies.”

  
The last day in England is spent getting ice cream at the famous chocolate shop in Oxford, as well as a few bars of different specialty flavors to keep him sated during his trip later in the night. It’s winter and Chanyeol’s freezing hands are reminding him how stupid he is for having come out with no gloves, but the ice cream is amazing and the snow glistening on the roofs of all the buildings makes up for any discomfort.

Breathing out softly, Chanyeol finishes the last of the cone. It’s only been two weeks since he came to London but he’s gotten attached to it already, something that seems to be a theme for him in all the places he goes to. At the least, it’s not the first time he’s been in England for EX’plOration before and it probably won’t be the last, but the next time he comes he’ll probably be somewhere more towards the rural grasslands to break from the pattern of cities he’d gone to the past few years, far from tourist bustles.  
  
He finds himself looking over the back all through the bus ride to the ferry and even as the boat makes its way from Dover to Calais, wishing as he always does that he’d have more time to stay but knowing he’ll miss out on the rest of the world.

Paris greets him as it dusts off the remnants of winter, the frigid airs of February replaced with a warmer light in March. It’s still really cold, and the sun still sets ridiculously early, but it also seems to peek out a little more often now and Chanyeol is grateful for the extra bit of light. When he finally checks into his hotel, it’s past midnight. He explains in between apologies and broken English to the person at the desk that his bus from the ferry to the hotel had been delayed by an hour, receiving gentle, if embarrassed, smiles and assurances in return.

He’s so tired by the time he gets to his room that he can’t be bothered to take a shower. Knowing he’ll feel gross otherwise, and chased by a voice that sounds a lot like Kyungsoo going on about hygiene, he trudges into the admittedly nice bathroom and runs soap and water down his body. The warmth soothes whatever unfortunate muscles he’d cramped from the strange position he’d fallen asleep in on the bus and lets him relax slightly, but it also wakes him up too much to let him go to bed immediately.

After an hour staring up at the ceiling, Chanyeol ends up leaving the hotel room to take a walk outside.

It’s strange for him to feel this - nervous in a new country. He’s long since gotten used to moving around from place to place, never staying too long, but this is different from the constant regret and never being satisfied with the time constraints, it’s almost as if he’s waiting for something. He just doesn’t know what.

After circling the small lobby of his floor a few times and pretending he’s busy on his phone, he turns back to try getting a few hours of shut-eye before his alarm will inevitably go off at some ungodly hour in the morning. Just as he’s pressing the card to the pass, he hears a faint laugh behind him and he turns, almost expecting - wishing - for it to be the beautiful man from England.

There’s no way, the logical part of his brain tells him. No way he’s here in Paris too, no way they’d be at the same hotel. No way they’d meet again.

The logical part of his brain turns out to be right. It’s a boy, maybe a few years younger than Chanyeol, talking on the phone and going into the far right hall. He forces the door open an collapses on his bed. Why is he still thinking about that man? What had been so special about him?

His heart betrays his mind so easily.

Chanyeol falls asleep to the sound of bright laughter in the backdrop of static in his ears.

  
It’s not common for Baekhyun to feel this jittery, he thinks. But now, looking to and from his sketchbook and the bird nestled atop a snowy bed in the branches of a tree, his hands shake with nerves and he’s never felt so terrified of starting a new page in his sketchbook before.

When he thinks back on it, the reason he'd lost any and all inspiration was because it'd started to feel more like a chore to paint. With the wide public’s expectations, with critics judging each and every one of his pieces as if they were made for _them_ , and not the people who enjoyed and loved art as much as he did, the suffocating feelings grew and grew until one day, he just couldn't paint. The colors drew themselves out from his brush but they didn't make sense anymore, never ended up the way he wanted them to anymore.

Tens, maybe hundreds of canvases had been destroyed one by one and by the end of them all, Baekhyun had felt even more used, more empty. Sehun had been the one to drag him out to the sun, telling him he was being stupid, trying over and over without changing anything but expecting a difference in the results.

Baekhyun stares at the sketchbook in his hands with more and more trepidation, regretting everything, feeling nothing but absolute fear and panic racing through his veins as his fingers fumble to not drop the pencil. In the end, he shuts the book and takes deep breaths to calm himself before leaving the field and finding his way to a bridge overlooking the river staring at the rhythmic waves to ease his breaths. He runs a hand down his face and wonders if he should call Jongdae, only stops himself knowing how much worry he’d put Jongdae in.

It’d been easier, back then. When he had no one to please, when he was creating for his own sake. When he hadn’t been crippled with expectations and demands and the restrictions of today. He wonders when he’d changed so much.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize a tall shadow coming closer to him, until a hand reaches out and offers a cup of coffee. He jerks his head up to see an ever familiar man, tilted head and a nervous smile.

The man. The stranger. The photographer who’d somehow left a piece of him in Baekhyun’s memories and refused to be erased.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Baekhyun almost laughs in disbelief. How had they met again, across miles and between a country? How had things worked out this way? God might not hate him after all.

He bites back a smile. “They’re worth a little more than that, don’t you think?”

The man lifts the cup of coffee again. “Can this convince you?”

Baekhyun wants so desperately to know this man better. He wants a name, a number, maybe something more than this loose friendship they’ve forged over the sparse meetings. He holds himself back, though, and settles instead for taking the cup from the man’s hands with a grateful smile. The brush of their fingers makes the man’s cheeks flush slightly again, but he pretends not to notice, and they settle into a comfortable silence taking turns with the hot drink, only breaking it once the cup is finished and tossed into the nearest garbage can.

“Have you ever lost all inspiration for photography?” Baekhyun asks. He feels the man turn to him in surprise, but he doesn’t meet his eyes, burying his mouth and nose into his scarf.

After a moment, there’s a long exhale by his side, a whisper of a breath that shows itself with white fog that goes up to gray clouds. “Is that what you’re going through? Loss of motivation?”

Baekhyun wishes he had something else to call it. But he doesn’t, and he nods.

“Not really. But I think in those cases, it might be better to just start again.” The words make Baekhyun freeze, and he’d have looked at the man with confusion if not for his fear that any more contact with this stranger will lead him on a path to self-destruction.

“What?”

The man shrugs. Baekhyun hadn’t noticed a few seconds ago, but now they’re close enough that their shoulders are touching, and the taller’s warm, comforting aura is almost a blanket. He feels the man’s movements on his own frame, every shift of feet brushing in jacket sleeves against his.

“I like to think of photography as something that brings joy and wonder to the people who experience what’s inside the picture. I’m not sure, I can’t be sure what exactly you’re going through but I can say -” this time, just once, Baekhyun allows himself to meet the man’s gaze, finds himself drowning in its intensity and depth. “Forget about others for a moment. You’ll be surprised what you can find if it’s for yourself.”

Baekhyun swallows. If he had any less self-restraint he’d have asked to make their ghostly memories together something more tangible.

He doesn’t.

They walk together to the nearest subway station and Baekhyun’s left alone at the top of the steps with a smile, a flash of hesitance in the man’s eyes, a -

“Goodnight.”

  
The next time they meet is at the airport. Chanyeol is drinking the shitty airport coffee because there isn’t anything else available, watching the night sky glitter with all the constellations of the distant universe. When his plane is called, he stands from the seats, taking his passport and ticket in hand.

They run into each other smack in the middle of the hall.

Chanyeol doesn’t believe in things like fate. Fate makes things seem pre-determined, like everything is on a converter line waiting for the next big thing to happen. But there’s a little stutter in his chest when he sees the man again, looking up at him in slight shock. The airport fades to background noise and images as Chanyeol stares at the man, soft lips parted around a gasp or a syllable and - maybe there is something connecting people together in this world.

“What a coincidence,” the man says, tilting his head.

Yes, what a coincidence. Chanyeol wants to ask the man what he thinks of their impossible encounters. Wants to ask why they’ve both not done anything more than dance around subjects. Wants to ask if they’d have a chance as friends outside their random run-ins, possibly as something more. He bites back those questions and smiles.

“Where are you headed?” Chanyeol asks. He’s barely keeping his voice steady.

The man twirls a passport in the air and grins a little, taking his other hand off the bright red suitcase he has. “China for a week. You?”

“Germany.” There’s a little drop in Chanyeol’s stomach at that, and it feels a lot like disappointment. The man seems to notice.

“Don’t look so sad,” he says, teasing, and then pauses. “Didn’t you say you work for a journal? Tell me the name, I’ll make sure to buy a copy when I’m back in Korea.”

Chanyeol wants to melt into a puddle because yes, he does work for a journal, and how had this man remembered at all?

“EX’plOration,” he stutters, “Technically it’s online too, you don’t have to buy it -” but the man smiles up at him brightly and he cuts himself off. This should really be illegal.

He hadn’t noticed the first few times they glimpsed each other, but now, Chanyeol realizes with his ears heating up that this man is at least ten centimeters shorter than him. It makes him look softer, smaller, and as he watches the man puff out his cheeks adorably at the headrest he’d dropped, Chanyeol realizes with his heart stopping for a second that wow, he wants to wrap him up in blankets and protect him from everything and anything.

“I’d better head out for my plane,” he says once he’s gotten his headrest secured around his suitcase handles. He smiles, a hint of something flitting within his eyes for a moment - hesitance? insecurity? - before it’s gone and Chanyeol’s blinking back the thought, brushing it off as a trick of the light.

Chanyeol swallows. He wants desperately to ask for something, a name, a number, something to keep this man a memory and not a dream. “Don’t forget about buying the copy,” Chanyeol calls out after him, a burst of surprising courage he hadn’t known was in him.

“Anything for my dear photographer.”

The man’s laughter follows him down the hall, to the plane, even as France becomes hidden under clouds and clouds of white.

  
Korea is as bright as the day he’d left it. Baekhyun watches the big cities underneath him, glistening with the lights of a thousand buildings as the plane maneuvers its way across the skies. It’s nearly cloudless, and reflections of the cities within the waters surrounding Korea are seen the closer they get to land.

Touching down at the airport means greeting Minseok, Jongdae, and Sehun, all waiting for him right beyond the gates. Across the meeting area, Baekhyun thinks he hears a delighted call of someone’s name, “ _Yeollie_!” and a few barks of a dog to accompany it that reminds him of Mongryong. He smiles at the noise. Airports aren’t his favorite places, but there’s something special about coming back to a country with the anticipation of familiar faces right after landing.

“Jongdae made me get up at 3 just to see you come back,” Minseok says, deadpan, but there’s a shimmer of amusement beneath the hardened mask he wears all the time. “You’re very welcome.”

Laughing, Baekhyun looks around. The people that had come off the same flight as him are all wide awake but the ones meeting them at the gates are tired and groggy, save the few young children running around asking for ice cream or snacks. He smiles at their enthusiasm, innocent joy just from a trip to the airport. As soon as he has his bags set on the cart with his suitcase, he runs into Jongdae, squeezing around him tightly.

“Welcome home,” Jongdae whispers into his ear, wrapping warm arms around him. Minseok’s laughter is bright and his embrace is just as friendly, a squeeze around his shoulders before they move away to let him fall into Sehun.

“Anyone who doesn’t know better would think I’m the hyung,” Sehun says, joking, and his long arms come up to cradle Baekhyun against his chest. Baekhyun breathes in from Sehun’s neck, his scent so familiar, just like home.

“Anyone who does know better would know you’re the maknae with how much we baby you,” Baekhyun retorts, bringing a huff from Sehun even as Jongdae laughs. Reaching up, he ruffles Sehun’s hair, looping his arm through the younger boy and pulling the cart behind him to lead them to the exit. “Thank you for coming to greet me, my favorite baby model.”

Sehun is grumbling all the way to Minseok’s car. “I’m the _only_ model you’re close to anyway.”

\------

“Yeollie? Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol blinks back into focus at the hands waving around his face. “What?”

Jongin pouts at him. “You haven’t been listening to _anything_ I was saying, have you? What are you looking at?”

“I -” Chanyeol trails off. What had he been looking at? And why?

Rolling his eyes, Kyungsoo deposits Toben into Chanyeol’s arms and takes the cart with his suitcases from him. “If you idiots won’t start moving I’ll drive back to Seoul without you.”

Just as Jongin’s pulling him out of the airport, Chanyeol catches a glimpse of a bright red suitcase at the far end of the parking lot.

  
Days pass by more quickly now. Baekhyun hadn’t realized back when he was traveling around, but each hour seems more precious, more worthy, instead of simple numbers passing by on his phone screen. It’s such a stark difference to his attitude before going on the forced vacation and it must show, because Jongdae is just a little more smiley with him, clearly pleased and happy.

“You were so grumpy back then,” Jongdae says, twirling a long spoon into his coffee. “I honestly thought you were going through puberty again or something.”

He yelps when Baekhyun pinches his hand across the table.

It’s been a month since Baekhyun came back to Korea. He almost can’t believe it, even more so when he thinks of the various projects Minseok’s telling him are open to him, the gallery proposed by one of Minseok’s business friends from China, offers still coming in from various people hopeful for collaborations or interviews. And he’s gotten better.

He no longer fears the mistakes he’d grown so terrified of in the years of public limelight. His art is for himself and the people who want to see it, not for anyone else.

“I’m glad you’re better and more comfortable,” Jongdae whines, “but must you abuse me like that?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, dragging Jongdae out of the cafe to lead him to a nearby bookstore.

“It’s been so long since I’ve done stuff like this,” he says, his own mild Americano almost finished. “Indulge me.”

“Have I not been doing exactly that for the past month?” Jongdae sounds flabbergasted. “Bring Sehun instead next time, or so help me Baekhyun I will -”

Baekhyun laughs, but his own laughter fades when his eyes land on the magazine and journalism section of the bookstore, piles upon piles of booklets and papers.

“ - are you even listening to me -”

Holding up a hand, Baekhyun presses a finger to Jongdae’s lips and ignores the following indignant sputters as he leans down, looking at the selections of articles. He racks his head for a name he knows is lingering somewhere in the back, and his breath hitches when he remembers. The Exploration travel journal that the man had said he worked at - could it be here? Frantic searching and barely remembering to look at how the everything’s letter-coded, he only takes a breath when he sees the cover of what might - what has to be the man's journal, fancy letters spelling out EX’plOration in the front.

It doesn’t look to be a copy from the recent winter travels this year, as all the pages Baekhyun flips through are summery beaches and gardens of wildflowers and greenery. But he buys it anyway, returning to a confused brow from Jongdae who is still wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Baekhyun shakes his head. The pictures are breathtaking, done and edited with care and passion and joy of the craft, a distinct sort of style to all of them. In fine print at the bottom, he sees the credits of the photos, small letters spelling out - _photos by Park Chanyeol._

“Nothing,” he manages at last. “Just someone I was reminded of.”

Jongdae clearly takes the response with doubt, but he doesn’t push it any more than a simple, “Who?”

Baekhyun feels a bitter sweetness spread through his smile. “My inspiration.”

It’s a shame though, that his muse will never know how he’d inspired him.

  
“Hyung, you’re so weird.”

Chanyeol jerks his head up at the words, faced with Jongin’s scrunched up expression right in front of him. “What - Jongin, get off my desk.”

“Get off his desk Jongin,” Kyungsoo agrees from across him, and Jongin pouts over at the older man who isn’t even looking at him as he types away on his computer. “But he’s right, Chanyeol, you’ve been a little off these days."

Jongin points a finger. "It's not even these days! It's been what, months that you've been acting strange!"

Chanyeol frowns, but it feels more like a pout as he shoos Jongin off the papers and forces him into a chair. "I'm not acting weird. You two are just oversensitive."

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at him and resumes his typing after the brief glance upwards. "You yourself should know that's a lie. I don't know what's going on with you, but I suggest you take a break for a while."

"I don't need -"

A thin article is dropped onto Chanyeol's desk, and he looks up at Junmyeon in surprise. "You do," Junmyeon says. His tone books no argument. "There's an art gallery near I think you'll like. You used to be into them in university, right? It's been a while since you've been to one, go check it out. It's like a block away."

Chanyeol sighs and rubs his eyes. It's true that he was into art, he still is. He's a photographer, of course he appreciates art too, but it's been ages since he's taken the time to look at recent artists or designers and he doesn't know why Junmyeon's telling him to go. "Why -"

"He's a rising star," Junmyeon cuts him off again, "and I looked at his works. He's really promising, and it'd be nice too if you could get permission from him to use pictures of his art for the Korea section of our travel journal."

Chanyeol still isn't fully convinced, but he purses his lips and picks up the article Junmyeon had tossed to him. And chokes when he sees the cover.

Jongin makes a startled noise and Kyungsoo looks up at him, his expression conflicting between annoyance and concern, but Chanyeol can only focus on the figure smiling into the camera in the cover of the article, kind smile on gentle features and an ever familiar tuft of light brown hair. Chanyeol's hands shake as they grip the small booklet, papers crinkling slightly under the weight of his fingers and this - this can't be real.

  
**Byun Baekhyun - Back in the Arts**

**Everyone's favorite sweet and charming artist has stepped back into the Art Industry after a brief hiatus, and his fans are delighted to see his various works from all around the cities he'd traveled to get inspiration. See inside for more of his comments about his break as well as what inspired him to create art again.**

  
Chanyeol's up and out the door before he can hear Jongin's questions yelled after him.

It's true he's been acting weird recently. But was it too much to hope? He and the man were going to return to the same country anyway. They'd met so many times in impossible places, impossible times, seemingly due to some unknown power that was bringing them together yet they hadn't met once in Korea. In this small country that spans nine hours from one end to another, and Chanyeol had all but given up - until a magazine with the face of the man he'd been searching for was quite literally thrown in front of his face.

His breaths are heavy when he reaches the building addressed on the article, and he only slows down at the entrance, already seeing parts of the works displayed around the walls and finding himself breathless.

They're fucking ethereal. He can't even begin to try to conceive the time and effort that went into the pieces and for some reason a part of him is so proud, proud that despite the slump the man had confessed to falling in, he’d been able to pick himself back up like this. He walks into the furthest room just as someone finishes speaking, a familiar voice saying -

“ - a tribute, actually. It’s for someone who inspired me to do this entire gallery, but I haven’t been able to thank them properly …” The voice falters and fades away as the figure at the front turns, meeting Chanyeol’s gaze and his eyes widen with a desperate sort of wonder and hope, mouth parting. Neither of them can look away from each other and Chanyeol wants to run to him, talk to him, maybe kiss him a little, too. Ask if what he felt was reciprocated, ask why they’d been running around the questions they’d _known_ were on each other’s minds the past four or five times they’d met.

There’s a man next to him with a kittenish gaze and curled lips. He tilts his head slightly, looking to Chanyeol in confusion. But then he nudges Baekhyun, gesturing towards Chanyeol as he says something into his ear, and Baekhyun blinks furiously before he replies lowly. The man nods at him and smiles.

“Thank you everyone,” the man says with a bright grin, clapping his hands together. “That was Baekhyun’s final and main project, called City Lights. I hope you all enjoyed.”

There’s a smattering of applause and a few murmurs here and there but Chanyeol can’t focus on any one of them. Everything else fades to background noise and the only thing in view is Baekhyun, how slow steps let them meet in the middle of the hall. Behind them, the kitten man pushes another handsome man out the door, vague words and in the end, there’s only the two of them, and Baekhyun smiles gently, strained.

“Hey, Chanyeol.”

At Chanyeol’s surprise, Baekhyun laughs softly. “I told you I’d buy your journal. It had your name on it. Did you not believe me?”

Chanyeol can’t answer. He reaches out, shaking hands and Baekhyun grasps his fingers when he hesitates, bringing them tight against his chest. “I was scared,” Baekhyun says, quiet. “I didn’t know if you’d be willing to bring whatever we have back here, if you could at all.”

A hint of tears prick at the back of his eyes. “I missed you,” Chanyeol whispers. “I’m so happy I found you.”

Lips spreading into a wide, relieved smile, Baekhyun presses a little closer, and Chanyeol’s other hand grips his waist, faltering and afraid but then Baekhyun leans up, smiling hopefully.

“Can I?”

Chanyeol kisses him as response, and Baekhyun makes a soft noise against his lips that’s muffled when Chanyeol brings him closer, flush against him. There are no fireworks, no light flashing behind his lids, nothing but a sense of relief and utter giddiness that spreads through him.

“I’m not letting you disappear again,” Chanyeol says when they part. Baekhyun’s eyes sparkle.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Bonus:

  
Chanyeol picks up his camera and squints, his vision blurry from the rain in his eyes.

“You're going to catch a cold,” comes Baekhyun's exasperated voice, mild concern evident. “I know you want good pictures but this is going too far.”

It's an understatement.

The weather forecast hadn't been lying about the heavy rain, yet Chanyeol had still come outside, hoping to get at least a few good pictures for his next editorial. And he'd dragged Baekhyun into it as well.

As soon as they were out of Chanyeol's car he bolted for the mountain walk, where anyone could look out onto the layers of the city within and a bridge that lights up with different colors at night. The buildings and small glowing dome at the top of one of the mountains - a parachute resort, he thinks - create a wonderful scene of shining lights that reflect down onto the river flowing under them and Chanyeol's never felt more at peace.

“Look at this,” he says excitedly as Baekhyun climbs up near him at a more reasonable pace. “This will be perfect for the Korea Tourism page!”

“When you're suffering in your bed at home let me tell you now that I am not going to play housewife.”

Chanyeol whines. “Baekhyun, you know I can't give this up. Look at the city lights, they look so pretty!”

“And you're soaked through all your clothes,” Baekhyun says, closer this time. A soft shadow falls over him and he looks to the side, making out the vague form of Baekhyun's body as the shorter man holds an umbrella out for him and reaches up for his face. Chanyeol holds still to let Baekhyun brush his wet hair back and smiles at him, a small thrill of victory making him grin wider when he sees a hint of a smile on Baekhyun's lips.

“But it's pretty, isn't it. Hold on, just a few more pictures.”

Next to him, there's a loud, audible sigh. Baekhyun tosses a towel at his face and crosses his arms, but there's masked awe in his eyes when he turns back towards the scenery, breath catching the wind in gentle white puffs. After muted minutes of Chanyeol snapping his camera, he turns back, satisfied, and Chanyeol leans down to press a kiss to Baekhyun’s lips.

“You’re the prettiest, though.”

Baekhyun laughs and slaps his arm, and Chanyeol can only smile.

He’s so lucky that they’ve found each other. Every single time.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a gift for Baekhyun's album coming out, but it was a bit late. I hope you enjoyed nevertheless!


End file.
